Blue-Eyed Monster
by Gabriel Seraph
Summary: The CBI is called in to investigate the untimely death of popular internet comedian Anthony Padilla, one half of the famous duo Smosh. But nobody can get a little publicity stunt past Patrick Jane. Part 1 of the Blue Reality Trilogy. Trigger Warning: lots and lots of black comedy and dumb humor ahead. Also some Ian/Van Pelt and Anthony/Van Pelt ship-to-ship combat.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is totally unrelated to my other, in-progress Mentalist-based crossover, _Prophecy of Blood_. Imagine, if you will, that this story takes place in an entirely different universe from that one. As with _Prophecy_, however, canon be damned.

I am not Dan Brown, so I have no problem saying, any and all errors I make are my own.

And another thing - definitely no online comedians were harmed in the making of this fic.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1

Carmichael, California

March 23, 2020, 12:09pm

Grace Van Pelt emerged from the car carrying her iPad, on which she had paused the YouTube video that had attracted the attention of every law-enforcement team in the area, including the CBI, causing them to converge on a normally quiet suburban neighborhood on an otherwise normal Monday. She ducked under the crime scene tape and, long since inured to the sight of corpses, barely gave the young male on the ground a second glance before swiping her iPad's screen and showing the video to Lisbon and Jane, who were already on the scene and examining the blood-stained tile foyer.

Lisbon and Jane angled their heads to get a glimpse of the video, which was shot in the very same room in which they were all standing. Patrick even recognized the distinctive print on the wall, a shot of the Eiffel Tower from underneath. The black-and-white picture, which looked like something one would find in a suburban housewife's living room, or perhaps a college dorm, didn't gel very well with the video's offbeat, comedic-horror style, which was presented as found footage of two young men, one of whom happened to now be dead, gabbling away about a haunted video that one of them had seen, complete with shots from the "haunted video" in question. They sure did look extremely scary, as even Jane, never one to shy away from creepy things, soon turned away. Except the reason he gave was that "This video is just so...derivative. Juvenile sense of humor. Obvious parody source. It feels like little more than a coincidence."

Lisbon, however, kept watching. "I don't know, Jane," she said. "If not for the fact that this man is dead, well, this would actually be pretty funny, I think. They sure know how to target their audience."

"Never thought you were one for internet comedy, boss," said Cho, who was accompanied by the second web comedian, another young male, with a stubbly face, bright blue eyes, and a bowl cut.

The young man nodded to Lisbon and said, "That's the spirit. Find comedy where it isn't. It's what we always loved to do." He gestured to his fallen buddy.

Lisbon frowned. "And you are...?"

"His name's Ian Hecox," said Cho. "Our dead guy is Anthony Padilla. 25, local native. And as you can see, they are - were - a, uh, world-famous comedy duo on YouTube."

Ian nodded. "You know, we would always pretend to kill ourselves in our videos, and count the number of times we 'died' each year. Never thought it'd ever happen for real."

Cho led Ian out the door into the car so he could go back to the office for interviewing. Jane resumed his scanning of the room, then announced, "This is all a stunt."

"Excuse me?" asked Lisbon.

Jane stuck his finger in the blood puddle around Anthony's body and licked it. "Cackle-Bladder," he said. "No question."

Lisbon's expression was so priceless that Van Pelt surreptitiously snapped a picture on her iPad. _This'll make a great new meme_, she thought. Meanwhile, Lisbon, after several seconds of stammering, finally got out, "Jane, first off, that's completely disgusting. Second, you just compromised the crime scene! Are you ever going to learn?"

"Look, I know what I know, and that blood is fake," Jane declared. "Test it yourself if you don't believe me, but I'm right here, I know it."

Van Pelt held a finger to Anthony's wrist. "No pulse," she said. "I'd say he's most certainly dead."

"He probably has no wounds anywhere on his body," Jane said. "By the way, Grace, have you lost weight?"

Momentarily taken aback, Van Pelt soon nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have."

Jane nodded as well. "I thought so. Now you no longer look like a pregnant woman."

Van Pelt blushed brightly and turned her face towards the wall so she couldn't be seen. Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Could we please cut out the childishness?"

"Given the nature of these guys' comedy?" Jane asked. "I think not." He left the room without another word, leaving Lisbon and Van Pelt staring at each other, unaware that Anthony's brown eyes were looking the both of them - but especially Van Pelt - up and down.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Van Pelt stayed behind at the house for a couple of hours to question Ian. "And you're absolutely sure this was a spontaneous event?" she asked. "Nobody came into the house that you know of?"

"Yes and no," said Ian, sighing. "Who knows what happened here? Not you, not me, not nobody. I guess."

"Hmm." Van Pelt shuffled her notes and pocketed them, then she accidentally fumbled her bag as she attempted to lift it off the back of the chair.

Ian stepped up and said, "Whoa, lemme help you with that." He made to grab the bag, but Van Pelt politely declined the offer and picked it up herself. "If there is a killer out there," Ian said tentatively, "well...I really hope you get him. Nobody kills my buddy and gets away with it, know what I mean?"

"I know," said Van Pelt. "Don't worry, we'll do everything we can." She shook Ian's hand, and Ian shuddered very slightly with the contact. Van Pelt could feel it like the minute haptic buzz that came from touching a touch-screen phone. She left, and Ian surreptitiously snapped a picture of her from behind with his own touch-screen phone just before she left the door. Then he entered his room, tapped the wall in three precisely-located spots, and stood back as a small panel slid away to reveal a keypad. Pressing the keypad, Ian entered a hidden closet with a column of four TV screens stacked up on the far wall.

Tapping the third screen, Ian observed a live feed from what he really hoped was the correct lab in the Medical Examiner's office. As it turned out, it was, because the coroner soon dropped a neatly-wrapped corpse onto the table. Ian knew who it was right away. He tapped the screen again to shut it off, grabbed a small vial and eyedropper from underneath the bottom screen, got into his car, and drove up to the Medical Examiner's lab. Despite his lack of a properly authorized ID, he was able to get into the room without any trouble, with nobody disturbing him as he entered a room whose electronic lock had been temporarily disabled so he could drip the contents of the vial into Anthony's mouth.

Anthony blinked, inhaled, and sat up on the metal slab. "It's time?" he asked. When Ian nodded, Anthony said, "Mmmkay. Let's go, then." He slid off the table, causing Ian to turn away in disgust. "What? It's not like you haven't seen me naked before," Anthony pointed out. "The things we do for fame, dude. Just gimme my clothes if it disturbs you that much."

"I...I kinda forgot them," Ian said.

"WHAT?!" yelled Anthony, almost loud enough to wake the corpses that actually were dead. "How do you expect to get me out of here with no clothes?"

Ian cast his eyes around until he spotted a gurney. "Tell me this is the one you came in on," he said.

"Uh, yeah," said Anthony. "Why?"

"'Cause you're gonna ride on it again for a while," said Ian. "Just till I get you inside my trunk."

Anthony sighed heavily. "Fine," he grunted, drawing the word out to its logical length limit as he lay back on the gurney. Sliding the blanket back over himself, Ian wheeled the cart down the hall and into the parking lot, where he unceremoniously dumped Anthony's "corpse" into the trunk. Then he wheeled the gurney back inside (minus the blanket, which Anthony would use to cover himself) before getting into the car and lowering the backseat to allow Anthony to clamber out of the trunk.

"Hey, bet you'd love to see this," Ian said, handing Anthony his cell phone and showing him the picture he'd recently taken of Van Pelt.

Anthony let out a loud wolf-whistle. "That's some girl," he said. "Totally hot. She's the lady detective who came into the house, right?"

"One of them," said Ian. "And she's mine, so don't get no dumb ideas."

"Aw, dang it," Anthony said. "She _is_ totally hot, you know."

Ian turned around to take his phone back. "Dead people ain't supposed to be doing that, you know," he said, pointing at the bulge distinctly visible underneath the thin blanket.

"Ever heard of death erections?" Anthony asked.

"Ever heard of 'shut your frickin' face?'" Ian retorted.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next day, everyone sat in the office, silent except for the sound of Rigsby chewing a slice of apple. Pale, silvery juice dripped down his chin, forcing him to grab the napkin on his desk. In the process, he nearly upended the dark blue fruit, which came dangerously close to falling off the desk.

Within minutes, Lisbon entered the office. "I just got a call from the coroner," she began. "Remember the body we found yesterday? Looks like someone's stolen Anthony Padilla from the lab."

"What?" asked Van Pelt. "Who? How did they do it?"

Lisbon frowned. "We don't know," she said. "The cameras were disrupted for about ten minutes last night. Before they stopped working, Anthony was right where he was supposed to be. Once the cameras came back online, he was gone. And nobody seems to be able to explain why."

She turned to Jane, as if silently asking him for help. "What are you looking at me for?" he asked. "I don't know about supernatural stuff."

"What, you're saying a ghost did it?" Cho asked.

"Probably," said Jane. "Or more likely, it's just a person with a magnet or something to cut the cameras out for whatever length of time they need."

Lisbon shook her head, mildly exasperated. "Whatever," she said. "Van Pelt, Jane, go down to Ian Hecox's house again, ask him if he's got anything more to tell us. Rigsby,Cho, check into anyone else who might know what's going on. Family, friends, neighbors, anything." Everyone set to work instantly, and Lisbon retreated into her office so she could ponder the situation in solitude.

While Van Pelt spoke to Ian, Jane proceeded to explore the house in search of anything Ian could have used to interfere with the cameras, but found nothing. The only remotely promising thing he did pick up on was a faint sound of laughter in the bedroom, which seemed to be coming from within the walls. Jane looked at the walls for a moment, then shook his head, deciding it was just pipes gurgling. He had no idea that Anthony was in fact hiding in the secret room behind the bedroom wall, watching everything inside the house and laughing as the CBI people practiced surprising incompetence.

But Jane soon found a shoebox under Ian's bed, and inside it was a tube of red liquid, which he instantly recognized as Cackle-Bladder. Once again, he was right about something and Lisbon completely failed to believe him.

And then, something even more impossible happened. Anthony started carving letters on the inside of the door, in mirror images so they could be seen on the outside as well. Jane stared for a second, then called Van Pelt into the room just in time for Anthony to finish carving his message: "ANTHONY LIVES, BITCH!"

Van Pelt frowned at the carving on the wall. "Where is this coming from?" she asked.

"The other side, clearly," said Jane. On the other side, Anthony laughed his head off at the incredibly lame pun.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

March 25, 2020, 10:00am

Ian opened the now-defaced hidden door and glowered at Anthony, who burst into laughter the second he saw him. "I thought we were gonna keep your continued existence secret for a while, friend," he said.

"And who says we're not?" Anthony countered as he stopped laughing.

"Dead people don't go around writing the message that they still live, bitch! Got it?" Ian was really seething with rage, as evidenced by the now-pronounced twitch in his left eye.

Anthony held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Can you please not take this so seriously?"

Ian resumed his death glare. "Look, that guy in the wrinkly blue suit is really getting suspicious of us. I can tell. He's gonna blow the whole operation, and then we're just a couple of embarrassed doofuses who tried to stage a death hoax!"

"I think you mean 'doofi,'" Anthony said.

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!" Ian yelled. "Just...just stay in the house until we move on to phase two, all right? Keep to the plan, and even that stupid blondie can't ruin our publicity stunt."

Anthony shook his head angrily. "Some publicity stunt this is," he grumbled. "Gotta keep it all private."

While Anthony sat on the bed and gazed out the window, Ian made his way to the kitchen. Checking to ensure nobody was there to see him, he raised the index finger on his right hand, and watched as the fingernail elongated into a lethally sharp black claw, which looked at least somewhat reptilian in nature. Once the claw reached its full length, he dug into his left arm, gouging an inch-long, inch-deep slash, almost penetrating to the bone. It wasn't long before the blood oozing from the wound shifted colors, from deep red to midnight blue. Satisfied, Ian removed the claw and allowed the blue blood to drip into his mouth.

Then he stiffened, sensing someone was nearby. But it was only Anthony. Who else could it be, anyway? There was nobody else in the house.

"Um, dude, what are you doing?" asked Anthony.

Ian blushed slightly and stammered, "Uh...um...I was just practicing for our Self-Cannibalizing Vampire video."

"Mmmkay," said Anthony, after a long pause during which the awkward could almost be seen as well as touched. "Carry on." He sat on the couch, whistling nonchalantly, or at least in a close facsimile of nonchalant. Instead, he was starting to feel very nervous. There was no Self-Cannibalizing Vampire vid in the works for Smosh. So what in the hell was Ian doing?

Anthony waited for Ian to go into the shower and start singing, loudly and obnoxiously like usual, before he grabbed his cell phone and attempted to call the CBI. But he hung up before they could answer; as Ian would say, it just wouldn't do for a dead person to be calling the po-po unannounced. So instead, he took the keys from the hook by the door and made his way to the car. His ancient knockoff sports car, still surprisingly reliable as ever, started up instantly - as did the radio, which Ian had left on one of those god-awful hip-hop stations he loved so much. "Dammit, Ian!" he yelled, as if his best friend were sitting right next to him and not fighting to regain the meat suit stolen from him by a monster straight out of a cliched scary movie. Changing the station to something playing some alt-pop of the recently-ended decade, he pulled out of the driveway and made the long drive into the city.

Upon arriving at the CBI building, Anthony took a seat in the waiting area. He chuckled as he saw that the TV in the corner was playing a rerun of _Dark Angel_ - because it was finally the years when that show was supposed to take place, it had become popular to show it in places where nobody could even be bothered to pay attention to what was on anyway. Although Anthony did spare a moment to chuckle when Normal called out, "Where the firetruck is Max?" In some other universe, perhaps he was complaining that _Dark Angel _had stolen his and Ian's favorite mangled swear.

Finally, the receptionist called at him to get his attention. Looking up and realizing nobody else was waiting, Anthony approached her and said, "I need to speak to Agent Van Pelt. My name is Anthony Padilla, and I think someone's murdered my best friend.


End file.
